Children Taking a Stand in the Sand, 2002.

Alpha and Omega All Over Again

Ever wonder about random

thoughts, and from where

ideas come?

Newton had to drop the apple

and ball fall before he could

explain the existence of gravity.

da Vinci experienced the

beguiling subtlety of a smile

before painting Mona Lisa,

the masterpiece.

Hubble calculated the expanding

Universe which gave us a better

understanding of the Big Bang

Beginning.

It is an appetite which drives

a hungry man to the meal.

The poet is struck suddenly

with the conclusion to his

unwritten poem. Putting pen

to paper, he creates a start

which then fittingly leads to

the end.

Survivors in this life, take heart,

there are days when the end

ushers in a new beginning.

Forgive me for occasionally

waxing philosophical: I am

a simple man who sinks his

teeth doggedly into the bone

of simplistic realities.

Dear reader, it is no mystery

that the sun must set before

a new day can rise for the

first time once again.

From that end, let’s begin.

Chris Hanch 1-31-19

Choo-choo Train, Longmont, Colorado, 2002.

Something About Fashion

Mr Rogers, that’s what my wife called me

when I wore my favorite sweater on that

cold and blustery winter’s day. She did not

approve of the bland color or style. I reminded

her that instead there could have been hell to

pay, had I chosen differently from my wardrobe

to don the breastplate, leather and fur fashioned

from Hannibal's closet instead that day. And with

my best mild-mannered and wimpy smile, I felt

compelled to break out into song, Won’t you be

my neighbor? She refused to answer, winced at me

and walked away. As I see it, even Old Hannibal

would have gladly sacrificed a bit of his perceived

manhood for the warming comfort of a tightly-knit,

albeit nerdy, garment as this while crossing the Alps

on such a frosty and foreboding winter’s day.

Chris Hanch 1-29-19

San Francisco Street, San Francisco, California, 1987.

Something About Survivability

Should you be conscious of mind and

fortunate as I to draw yet another breath

today, the relevant question may arise,

how is it through all these years that I

have managed to survive? Some will say

sunshine, exercise and clean living was a

factor in paving the way; bold tenacity

and struggling through hard times others

may claim. In this life filled with its myriad

complexities, with its unexpected twists and

turns where chance outweighs thoughtful

planning and skillful execution, any number

of reasons can be appropriately considered

and applied. For me, I tend to lean towards

the less considered convention of profound

simplicity. As a child, holding hands while

crossing the street father passed along was

key for me and my survivability. And although

resistant as hell, mother forced me to obey

her most pronounced orders of the day—keep

those elbows off the table, and eat all your

vegetables, young man, or there will be no

dessert for you. There are circumstances

beyond all reasoning which may explain how

it is that I’ve managed to survive nearly 72-years

thus far in life. Herein, I am compelled by the brevity

of my remaining time to name but two, which more

than likely played a role in helping me get through.

And yes, there were those days I ate my Wheaties

hoping to enhance my chances.

Chris Hanch 1-28-19

Viaduct, Longmont, Colorado, 2001

Native American Dance

For millennia the dance has been danced,

sometimes fancy, sometimes a labor of

love, ever to honor all that is given and all

which is to come, the gifts and sacrifice. And

too, there is the thunder of drums beaten

throughout the centuries. Sons of the Native

dance, the ritual of forefathers and offspring

yet to come. All are born and duty-bound to

dance. Footprints here, there, everywhere,

momentous imprints laid in praise of the rich

and bountiful Mother Earth, giver of life, herald

of the promised Spirit World hereafter. Twists

and turns, and oh the dancing to the heartbeat

rhythm of drums. And left behind a prophetic sign—

the stirring dust of eternity to awaken and remind.

Chris Hanch 1-27-19

Mt. Meeker Between Two Trees, Longmont, Colorado, 2006.

Mistaken Identity

Ever been walking down the sidewalk and

from behind someone calls out your name?

And you, figuring it was not you they were

calling to, but some other guy who happened

to be coincidentally about the same size and

shape, same hair color and style, who like you,

walked with a slightly lopsided gait and went

by the same name as you. How could you be

for sure anyway, right? So, you kept on walking

and never even turned around. Has that ever

happened to you?..Yes, I’m talking to and about

you, the one and only. It’s me..Remember, I had

a full, redish-brown beard last time we met?

A lot of gray has overtaken me since that day.

Chris Hanch 1-26-19

Graffiti, Longmont, Colorado, 2007.

This Just In...

This Just In...

This just in…

The grass is greener…

The news on CNN

has no beginning,

shall have no end…

Beethoven’s symphonies

will play over and over

again…

Your are that which

you have become…

The toddler, fed up

with crawling, stands

erect and takes

her first step…

The elderly woman

reaches for her cane…

The baker begins his

work at 5 AM every

day the same…

The elastic universe

can expand so

far before it collapses

back into its Big Bang

beginning...

The opossum can only

play dead for so long…

Time will tell…

All wishes have been

cast into the well…

Sometimes prayer

seems to help...

History speaks volumes

and no one is listening…

So, what is it

we expect to learn

today?

There are so many

questions which beg

to be answered.

Lets address

the fantasy

and reality of it

all over again.

C’mon, man,

are you shitting me?

Chris Hanch 1-26-19

Rail Crossing, Clarksville, Missouri, 1987.

Melody's End

Melody’s End

It was like one of those scrolls of

tinkling music on a player piano or

the tape on a recording machine

nearing its end. My brother who

lie terminally ill in hospital two

hundred fifty miles away returned

my phone call the other day. I under-

stood the news of his condition would

not be good. He coughed desperately,

gasping for breath with each word he

struggled to express. And he told me

that he had to say goodbye for he

knew his time was near. There are no

new scrolls to be found, no more tapes

of him to somehow rewind. In their place

only my grieving remains, and a longing

to hear the music of his voice once again

in my ear.

Chris Hanch 1-24-19

Storefronts, Morrison, Colorado, 2007.

Hell Frozen Over

Solitude and cold air today. Hell has

frozen over some would say. Yet,

93-million miles away, the sun con-

tinues to stoke it’s furnaces of fire. Hell

out there at the center of our solar

system is alive and well. With solitude,

well, it can go either way: heavenly as a

serene respite from the din and turmoil

of society, I would say; hellish, even

though frozen over, on a cold and lonely

winter’s day. (And then of course, there’s

the wind chill factor to consider as well.)

Despite weather conditions, relationship or

insightful prognostications, fire and ice remain.

And chances are that there are going to be

those days when there will be hell to pay.

Even so, deer continue to graze in a secluded

and peaceful place. I have been there a time

or two; between two hills in the secret Valley

of My Reality. I know where that is.

Chris Hanch 1-23-19

Discovery

Today is the day, and you have found it—a new

place in time, that which before had remained

undiscovered. And what a surprise to the eye

and mind after all these years. Each day does

not have to be the stale and crusty reminder

of yesterday, you know. There are reasons you

are here with this lifescape of renewal at your

feet. There are revelations to be learned at

every turn. Become one with the land, expand

your horizons, and cherish every breath you take.

The spirit you have longed for so long leads you

on. The tedious trail of trial and tribulation lies

in the dust behind you. Today is that day. The pan-

orama of possibility lies before you. Embrace that

which you have found. Don’t just stand there

dumbfounded and frozen in place. Time changes

everything eventually. Move along, you lucky

son-of-a-bitch!

Chris Hanch 1-22-19

Don't Fence Me In, Central Utah, 2008.

Hell to Pay

Think of it this way, my friends,

the Earth speaks each day and with

every turn. And after seeing many

billions of those, She knows what

She knows. And science and com-

mon sense tell us that She does.

Not happy with the way She is being

treated, ecologically She is saying. In

subtle and profound increments we

the human species are being held re-

sponsible for our mistakes. We are

the neglectful tenants of our own

destructive destiny. The rent is overdue,

and interest on the unpaid balance is

compounded day after day. What

Mother Earth has to say is that you

are hereby put on notice, charges have

been filed—Extinction or eviction,

of course, may be the only way. See

you in court. And now here we are

alone on the only home we know.

Chris Hanch 1-21-19

Turn of the 20th Century Victorian, St. Louis, Missouri, 2010.

Bucket List Wish

I have witnessed a fair bit in this

life of mine even though all of

us have only a certain given

amount of time. Lucky or for-

tunate I suppose I am to have

managed nearly seventy-two

years roaming from place to

place around this Earth of ours

to which I have been bound.

Gravity, has kept me grounded

here as the laws of physics have

rigidly applied throughout my

lifetime. There is one thing which

I have thus far missed and would

surely now rank as numero uno

on my Bucket List—the discovery

of intelligent life elsewhere in the

Universe. Not only to find that we

here on our lovely planet are not

alone, but to be able to share

and compare our life’s experience

with others from afar, I mean distant

folks from way out there among some

other far-flung star. I might tell them

of my plans today—chili I handmade

myself for dinner tonight. (I like mine

moderately hot with a bit of a bite.)

And, then there is a championship

football game with the hometown

team playing on TV. (Go, Chiefs!) Do

you have similar dishes and activities

with which to relate, I would want to

know? In any case, since you have

traveled some distance to get here,

pull up a chair and sit a spell. Tell me

what you like to eat? And what’s the

name of your favorite hometown team?

Huh, the Cleveland Browns? Damn, you

get their broadcast way out there? Oh,

why of course... excuse me for my

stupidity...surely with such an advanced

society which got you here, you too must

have cable TV.

Chris Hanch 1-20-19

Your Move! Damn, Check Mate Again!

This Day

2019, this day.

winter,

wind howling,

cold,

cloudy,

and gray.

1957, yesterday

the train,

Illinois Central

pulling into

Union Station,

St. Louis.

Grandma

arrives from

Chicago,

woolen overcoat

and hat,

suitcase in hand.

Three grandsons,

my father,

my two

brothers and I

rush into

her arms.

2019, this day,

my 71^st year,

in my mind’s eye,

remembering

a day gone by,

and Grandma’s

heart-warming smile.

Chris Hanch 1-19-19

Don't Fence Me In, Central Utah, 2008.

Formerly the Artist Known as Me

It used to be I would sketch, draw or paint most

days. I would select my pencils, pens and brushes

suitable for the task at hand. Before the advanced

age I am, before the arthritic fingers and trembling

hand, I humbly called myself an artist, And for those

who claimed to have no talent in the field, I was con-

sidered a gifted creative person as well. I suppose

if I were keen and adept at self-publicity, I may have

achieved a decent level of notoriety, but that was

never really my game. Although, from time to time,

I accepted work on commission, I pretty much created

works because inspiration and the muse moved me to

do so. Nowadays, to turn around a phrase made famous

by the musician Prince, I could be referred to in certain

circles as Formerly the Artist Known as Chris. No pity or

worries needed, my friends, I had a good run at my art-

istry when I was able. Today, you may call me a poet of

sorts, for I take time to write daily that which comes to

mind. I’m a free-verse kind of guy, mostly, with no encum-

bering rhythm or rhyme needed to find. In any case, my

kids still call me, Dad, which I’m proud to say has always

worked well for me.

Chris Hanch 1-18-19

Children in the Snow, Longmont, Colorado, 2008.

A Universe of Thought

For some time now, I have posted photographs

weekly on National Geographic’s Your Shot Site

where amateurs and professionals share their

works with others. The allotment is set at fifteen

entries per person per week. After my quota has

been met, I keep insisting to my son that I have

surely hit my limit for there are only so many

photos I have taken over the years. (Even the

cornucopia of plenty does not yield a never

ending supply.) I figure I’d be satisfied to hit

six-hundred, I told my son a time ago. Then,

having discovered a new supply, I had my eye

on seven-hundred. My son laughed. And each

week he continued to chuckle as I somehow

managed to uncover another stash. Last week

I surpassed the eight-hundred mark. And this

week, having reviewed a pile of CDs I had tucked

away, I can gleefully report that the number of

photos submitted by me will exceed nine-hundred,

and see publication at the allocated pace of fifteen

entries per week. Now, I realize this pace can’t go

on forever, but I’ll stick with it and play it for all it’s

worth. Photographs are not like writing and poetry,

you know, where thoughts and inspiration are oft-

times meteoric for me. There’s a boundless universe

of imagining out there to share, particles of which

are old as time itself, randomly ready to streak through

the darkness enlightening the atmosphere of my mind.

For this, there are no quotas or limits to define. And I

do believe that even my sometimes cynical son would

not chuckle at that.

Chris Hanch 1-17-19

Cable Car, San Francisco, California, 1987.

Missouri Mules, Roaring River State Park, Missouri, 1978.

Junkyard Bus, Longmont, Colorado 2007.

White Water, Eldorado Springs, Colorado, 2008.

Something About Appreciation

There are the things we need in life which

we generally ignore. You know, take the

everyday spoon and fork, the loose pen

and rubber bands in the catch-all drawer,

the light fixture hanging overhead in the

kitchen. And then, there are those things

we admire which we will never own—

the muscular thoroughbred horse with

the lustrous chestnut coat proudly prancing

in the holiday parade; the classic ‘57 Chevy,

renewed to perfection at the annual car show.

Our lives are mostly made up that way, living

with the ordinary and mundane; dreaming of

those wishful and glorious things which more

than likely will never come to us. Ah, yet we

can still admire and appreciate the finer things

this life of our has to offer. Yes, for the most

part we can say we are satisfied. Pay attention,

albeit briefly at a glance, to the shiny silverware

you are using at dinnertime tonight, the cool

satin feel held between your fingers, the shine.

Is it not smoothly sublime? And by the way, you

do not, nor will you ever have the means to stable

a race horse of your own. This morning I watched

a brilliantly red cardinal and his unremarkable

brown mate land on a tree branch in the back

yard. Their sight and chirping song brought a

smile to my face. In my imagining, they were

fortunate indeed, side-by-side, living their ordinary

bird lives as together they flew away.

Chris Hanch 1-16-19